


Drunken Confessions

by Aria_Lerendeair



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk John, Drunken Confessions, Ever - Freeform, Just don't want to admit it, M/M, They both want each other, secret pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Lerendeair/pseuds/Aria_Lerendeair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rough case, John goes to have a drink, or six. Sherlock comes to pick him up and John makes his move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fic from the lovely bendingdick-cucumberbatch, who wanted a bunch of things with her prompt (including drunk-confession-y John, pickpocketing, Sherlock being a prat and other things), so I hope I hit all of the above darling!

"Sherlock, she was a child! You can't say things like that to a young girl!"

"I don't see why not. I was telling her the truth."

John sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to keep from hitting the prat in front of him. "Sherlock. Her parents were murdered. She is eight. She doesn't need to be told that."

"So you would rather I lied to her and told her Mommy and Daddy were going to be home later tonight?" Sherlock said, his voice filled with contempt. 

"No, of course not, but there had to be another way-" John protested.

"Another way to tell her that her parents are dead? Don't be foolish John." Sherlock said, kneeling next to the body of the mother. "What was the cause of death?”

John stood tall, glaring at Sherlock’s back for a long moment. He didn’t want to answer the question. He knew the answer. He should walk away from Sherlock now. Instead, he knelt next to the mother. “Strangulation. Clearly someone larger than her. Pinned her down. Looked her in the face as they did it. It was a personal murder.” 

Sherlock hummed and stood up. “Of course. Personal. Lestrade!” 

John watched Sherlock stride away from the scene and stood up slowly. He rubbed a hand over his face. He need a pint. Or seven. It would take quite a bit more to get the image of a little girl crying silently out of his mind. Sherlock was off solving the case, he didn’t need him any longer. He walked down two blocks and hailed a cab, demanding to be taken to the nearest pub. 

 

Three drinks into the evening, John made two decisions. The first was to open a tab that he could pay when he finished drinking, and he started talking to the bartender and stopped paying attention to the people around him. A cab home for the evening was absolutely in order. He could afford to take one home for the evening. Especially after getting good and drunk.

The pub was busy, but not overly so. John found himself a seat in the corner of the bar and waited until the bartender made his way over. 

“You look like you have had an utterly shite night. What’s your poison?” 

John chuckled. That was one way to put it. “Whatever you have on tap. Keep it coming. I’m not driving home tonight.” 

“You got it.” The bartender said, filling his mug. “Military?”

John looked up at him and gave a grin. “Used to be. Doctor nowadays. With some detective work on the side.” More like the moral compass of said detective if he was truly honest. Ah well. At least he could be honest with himself if nothing else. 

“So you want to talk about what made your day shit, or no?” 

“I’d rather save you the details.” John put the mug down in front of him and raised an eyebrow at the grinning bartender. 

“You got it mate, I’ll keep it coming.”

Seven, or maybe eight beers later, John knew he should go home. The fact that he was ranting about Sherlock to the bartender now should have tipped him off. That and the bar had gotten twice as crowded as before. People were bumping into him left and right. 

“So what is it about this Sherlock that makes you follow him around like a puppy?”

John took a sip of the water that he had ordered three beers back. “I am not a puppy. I’ve killed people.” He frowned. “Bad people, but the point still stands.”

“Mate, you just admitted that you live with a genius who treats you like shit, drives you insane and takes advantage of you at every turn. What is there to like about living with this fellow?”

He finished off his next pint and stared at the empty glass. What was there to enjoy living with Sherlock? Damn near nothing, that was for certain. Except for that something that he didn’t think about. That he refused to think about. It wasn’t worth thinking about it. At all. In fact, he was going to definitely not think about it at all for the rest of the evening. Not like being in love with the bloody git got him anywhere anyways. 

“Right, think you made my point there.” 

John sighed and glared at the bartender. “‘m in love with the bloody git.” 

The bartender blinked. “Well, I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting to hear that from you. You certainly don’t seem the type.”

“I’m not. ‘ish just him. Only him. Bloody bastard.” John frowned when someone else bumped into his shoulder, nearly knocking him out of his chair. What the hell was it with people running into and hitting him tonight? He was pretty positive that he had done nothing to deserve it.

“Right. Well, this is just my professional bartending opinion, but maybe you should go home to this genius of yours and confess your undying love.” 

John snorted. “Right, and be kicked out of my own flat. Bloody brilliant plan. What’s next, kissing the Queen?”

The bartender shrugged. “You’re good and drunk at this point. What do you have to lose? Honestly mate, tell me.” 

There was one thing. One very important thing that he stood to lose. “Him. Need him.” 

“This’ll eat you alive.” 

John shrugged. “Not new to that kind of guilt. Suppose I’d just have to get used to it.” He sighed and reached into his pocket for his wallet. Might as well head home to see if Sherlock was back at the flat yet or if he was off gallivanting around London’s underground.

He frowned when his hand hit the bottom of his back pocket. Odd. John placed his hand over his other pockets, patting himself down quickly. Same problem. He’d had it before getting to the bar, that was how he’d paid for the cab. “Bloody hell!” Pickpocketed. Could this day get any bloody worse?

“What’s wrong?” The bartender said, walking back over from the other end of the bar. 

“Some bastard stole my wallet!” John spun around, nearly teetering out of the stool, trying to look at the crowd and who could have possibly wanted to steal his wallet. It didn’t make any sense at all! He didn’t look rich by any means. 

He hit his jacket pocket and relaxed when he felt his phone. Hell, at least now he could call- 

Fuck. 

Sherlock. He’d have to call Sherlock. John groaned and buried his face in his arms. Sherlock was not who he needed to be around while drunk. The last person. No one worse really. He pulled the phone out and fumbled with it for a long moment before finally managing to unlock it. 

His fingers stumbled over the keys as he typed out a message to Sherlock before burying his face in his arms. Hell. Hopefully Sherlock had finished the case and could come get him. 

His phone vibrated a moment later. ‘Fifteen minutes. -SH‘ 

John groaned. He was never going to live this down. Never ever. Now stupid, gorgeous, bloody Sherlock was going to come along and mock him for this for the rest of his life. Getting pickpocketed while drunk. He’d deserve it. Every second of it. Hell. 

“I take it your genius flatmate is coming to get you?” 

John looked up at the bartender and nodded. Was it that obvious? It must be if his bartender had figured it out. “He’ll ‘ay the tab.” 

The bartender chuckled. “Less worried about the tab and more ‘bout you mate.” He said, wiping down the counter and moving back to the other side. 

He watched the bartender walk back down the aisle and groaned, his head falling into his arms again. Damnit. Damnit it all to bloody hell. Why did this have to happen now? It couldn’t happen later? Much later? 

 

 

Sherlock stepped into the crowded pub and looked around. After a moment, he spied John, sitting on a barstool, his arms crossed in front of him on the tabletop and his head hidden in them. Drunk. Far drunker than he would normally get. Why was he this drunk? What had caused it? Had something happened to John? Something that was driving him to drink far more than his usual? He crossed the pub quickly, coming to stand behind John. 

“John.” 

John muffled his groan into his arms. Sherlock didn’t hear to hear that. Bad enough that he had had to call for Sherlock in the first place. “‘m fine Sherlock.” 

“Forgive me for disagreeing with your assessment John.” Sherlock shook his head and held out a card to the bartender. He raised an eyebrow at the total on the receipt, but signed it. 

John fought down the urge to snap at Sherlock, tell him that it was his fault in the first place for making him feel like this. For telling an eight year old that her parents were dead and not coming back. 

“Come John.” Sherlock helped lift John off of the stool. He studied John, watching how he tottered on his feet and started to fall over. “John, stand upright!” 

He giggled and turned to look at the bartender. “See what I mean?” 

The bartender shook his head. “I’m not one to tell someone how to live their life mate.” He turned to address Sherlock. “Get him home safe, will you?” 

Sherlock frowned. “Implying that I would do the opposite?” 

“No.” The bartender said. “Implying that your mate there is trashed and is likely to regret most of this evening in the very near future.” 

John watched as what he thought might have been a smirk appeared on Sherlock’s face. He dismissed it as impossible. It was simply how distracting Sherlock’s lips were. It was part of the problem. Part of his frequent problem. “That’s the problem with you.” 

Sherlock led John out of the pub and towards the street. He frowned. No cabs in sight. More likely to be some two blocks south. He wrapped an arm around John’s waist and started walking. “What, precisely, is the problem with me?” 

John waved a hand and huffed. “You’re so bloody gorgeous, you just strut in here and try to take over, driving me crazy, smirking with those lips of yours and damnit Sherlock. You’re teasing me.”

Sherlock prided himself on almost never being surprised. A rare exception to that in the past had been one John Watson. And now John had shocked him all over again. “John what are you-”

“It’s bloody pointless. So bloody pointless.”

Sherlock swallowed, watching as John pressed his face against him and inhaled slowly. “What is?”

“Being in love with a git like you.” John mumbled, wrapping an arm around Sherlock’s waist as he swayed. “You drive me crazy Sherlock. You put fingers in the sugar bowl.”

“That was for-”

“An experiment on ants and severed body parts. I know.” John lurched forward, giggling when Sherlock caught him and hauled him upright again. “Love you despite it. Even if you never buy the milk. EVER!” John poked Sherlock in the chest and scowled. 

“John. You are heavily intoxicated. You are not in possession of all your faculties.”

“Only the important ones.” John said, grinning and licking his lips. “I’ll show you.” He pushed Sherlock back against the wall, both of his hands pressing Sherlock’s shoulders against the rough brick. “Too bloody gorgeous for your own good.”

John fisted his hands in Sherlock’s coat and pulled him down, those ridiculous lips parted and ready for him the second their lips touched. He devoured Sherlock, his tongue claiming that smart, smirking mouth. Sherlock was his and no one else’s. He felt those long fingers dig into his lower back, pulling him closer, demanding more from him. 

It seemed that John Watson would never not be capable of surprising him. Sherlock let his eyes close and savored the touch, one that would likely never be repeated. If he could have only this moment, it was far more than he ever expected from John. When John pulled back and began kissing down his neck, Sherlock swallowed and pushed John gently back. 

“I can see that.” He managed, swallowing hard. John would not remember. It was for the best that way. “There’s a cab John.” Sherlock waved it down and helped John slide into the leather seats. His lips were still tingling. 

John leaned his head back and huffed. “See? Stubborn git.”

Sherlock glanced at John. “I am not stubborn. I am simply unwilling to give such a display in public.” 

John giggled again and shifted, leaning over so he could rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Where has your sense of adventure gone?” 

A shiver went up his spine and Sherlock cleared his throat, glancing at John. He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment before leaning down to whisper in John’s ear. “The first time I see you shout in passion John Watson, it will be where I, and only I can see. Understand?” 

John groaned, his mouth going dry. “Sherlock...”

“Now quiet. We’re almost home.” Sherlock resolutely stared straight ahead of the rest of the cab ride home, unwilling to look over at John until they pulled in front of 221B. 

In a matter of minutes, he had John upstairs and tucked into his bed, sans shoes and jumper. Sherlock watched John’s features relax into sleep and continued to watch him for a long moment. 

John’s words echoed in his mind, repeating over and over again. The kiss seemed burned into his senses, deletion impossible. John Watson had managed to inscribe something onto his hard drive that he would never want to forget. Sherlock felt his lips curl into a slow smile. John truly was an exception to all things.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have any IMMEDIATE intentions of continuing this fic, but sometime in the future I am certain that I will. I already have most of the morning after written in my head. We'll see what happens.
> 
> Also, I dislike naming random third-party characters in my story. Mostly because I hate naming in general. So le bartender never got a name. By the end of the fic, I regretted my decision. I got so tired of the word BARTENDER that I can't even tell you. Guh. 
> 
> Comments and Criticisms welcome!
> 
> You can find me here: http://aria-lerendeair.tumblr.com/
> 
> You can also watch me write fics like this (and dozens of others) live! Follow me on Livestream for fics, shenanigans and a general all-around awesome time! http://new.livestream.com/accounts/7212317


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